


Jack and Gil Commit a Murder

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, M/M, Or not, Original Character(s), Supernatural events, a murder most foul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: Jack drives a car, back and forth, between the lampposts out in the woods.Gil works in the grocery store down in the city with January Feign.And people. Go. Missing.
Kudos: 4





	Jack and Gil Commit a Murder

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original story I'm posting both to haunt myself into completing it and...that's about it. There you go.

It was times like this, late into the evening when nobody was around, that Jack wished he still smoked. He touched a gloved hand to the corner of his mouth and wiped away, then dusted his hands back together. The gentle _pap, pap, pap_ of the old leather scattered over the dead leaves of the late autumn forest, taking off towards the shadows outside the spot.

Maybe gum? He should get some gum.

Better not to give up on giving up bad habits. So, in replacing smoking, it’s generally advised to take up chewing gum or maybe even biting nails. Then again, he did wear those gloves day in and day out. Who’s to say what the nail beds looked like.

The lamppost nearby flickered and brightened, as though straightening itself out to accept guests. Jack glanced up, acknowledging an old, old friend, a colleague even, and tugged the bottom of his jacket as well. He pushed away from his car and folded his hands neatly at the small of his back, looking out at the empty road.

A crunch of gravel, first staggered then not, crossed the thin path that striped around the trees in the thorny woods.

“Need a lift?”

The empty street remained, and Jack went around his car, holding it open in time for a short, squat gentleman to cling to the opening of his car, his fingers threatening to dent the frame, and climbed up inside. He left a greasy residue on the dirt where his boot had last touched. Jack made a mental note to get out the products from the trunk when he was done with this first fare.

The first of many, it should be said, coming a long way to the first lamppost that would eventually take them home.

“Nice night out?”

Dumb question. Jack nodded and resettled in his seat, glancing back at the fare in the back of his car. Dull eyes crossed to meet Jack’s in the mirror and the gentleman finally nodded. They were dull, light gray things that swam in soggy features.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you there.”

The engine was warm with a tender sound curling around them as Jack pulled away from the spot, twisting around the familiar route, from one lamppost into the woods and down into the city where pairs of them marched up and down the streets and took them to the end where it all faded away.

* * *

Jack was a short man with dark hair and white gloves. He was compact in a way that looked like a tin soldier set in a box and forgotten in the attic. Some might call him wiry, if only because they often went without groceries and he could do with a few heartier meals. He had bright eyes and a thin, fragile smile, which did not betray how happy he generally was. And, generally, he was very happy indeed.

He enjoyed his work. Not a lot of people could say the same.

By the time the moon was spent and the last fare for the evening crossed over, Jack sank back in his seat and rubbed his face. He still had yet to drive home, but the world outside was quiet and dead, the last of autumn scattering out underneath his tires. It was a short drive, up through the darkly woods. Short and quiet and not a lamppost in sight, after he got away from his route. Gil would probably just be waking up and they could share quick hellos and how are yous and breakfasts. It sounded nice.

Jack turned away from the steering wheel and grabbed the pack of gum off the passenger seat, tearing off the wrapping for half a stick and popping it into his mouth. The back of the car thumped and rattled with the familiar notes of his familiar junk, in the black and red car that was his livelihood. He smiled before he touched the corner of his mouth again and finally started up the engine and pulled away from the uneven parking spot, nestled in neatly between two ancient lampposts, who’s lights had just winked out.

There was a house up in the thorny woods that had been there for a century or more. It was old, caved in on the northern side, with an unruly garden that had been overtaken by brier patches and wild blackberries. It had boarded up windows for the first and second floor and a porch that had another complete cave-in. A haunted-looking place, currently haunted by two squatters who had taken up residence some five summers ago and found they loved the old place. True, half of it was unusable and it was an inconvenient commute to get from the house back to the city below, but it was quiet and, when they ran the fireplace, quite warm.

Jack pulled the heavy car up the driveway and left it next to a locked garage. He wiped his face with the slightly dingy pads of his white leather gloves, pressing hard into pale eyes and rubbing them a moment. He was tired. No more than usual, but it was starting to creep up on him, with winter and all. He pulled himself up anyways and headed towards the door.

It was a nice big dark door with a coat of midnight paint that had grayed over the years and cracked and weathered. There were two big brown wicker chairs waiting on the porch and, between them, a little table with a frosted glass of old iced tea waiting. Jack picked the glass up on his way in, forcing the old door open, closing it just as quickly to keep what little warmth available inside. The world outside remained dark and quiet after he was gone from it, in the sanctity of that house.

Quiet in the house, too. And _cold_. No fire started up in the fireplace. Gil must not be up yet. Jack was a little sad to miss him, but he placed the half-empty glass of iced tea on the kitchen counter, more dishes spilling over and ready to be washed for later, and headed upstairs to crawl under old dusty covers.


End file.
